"You're wrong there," returned Gay gravely, "the woman's name was Lavinia Fenton." "That's not so. It couldn't be so. The newspaper said that Vane fought with Archibald Dorrimore, and that the quarrel was about Sally Salisbury." "The quarrel was part of the plot. It was concocted to hold up Vane to your scorn. Dorrimore wanted revenge because he thought Vane had succeeded where he had failed. True, Sally was present when the quarrel began, but that might have been an accident. Indeed, it's possible she was in the plot. Vane doesn't know one way or t'other." Lavinia was silent for a few moments. Then she said: "And is Mr. Vane in Newgate now?" "No. He was brought to trial after innumerable delays. The evidence against him amounted to nothing. The witnesses--one of them a lying wretch who ought to be whipped at the cart's tail from Newgate to Charing Cross, by name Jeremy Rofflash--were scoundrelly common informers of the lowest type. Lancelot's father, a Whig clergyman and strong supporter of King George, appeared in court to speak on behalf of his son's character, and the lad was acquitted. But I fear he's broken in health, and I doubt if he'll be the man he was before." Again Lavinia was silent. It was all very sad, and she felt full of pity for Lance. But at the back of her thoughts lurked the remembrance of Sally Salisbury's mocking face, of her vulgar spite. She was not altogether convinced that Lancelot Vane was insensible to Sally's undoubted attractions. She sighed. "To-morrow, then," went on Gay, "I shall bring you the songs I want you to learn." They had now come in sight of Betty's cottage. Lavinia pointed it out to her companion, and Gay, bidding her adieu, turned in the direction of Hampstead village. Pensively Lavinia walked towards the cottage. She had told herself over and over again that she cared no more for Lancelot--that she had blotted him out of her life--that she wanted neither to see him nor to hear of him. Yet now that he had gone through so terrible an ordeal she had a yearning to offer him her sympathy, if not to forgive him. "No, I can't do that," she murmured. "Accident or not, that vile woman was with him--his arms were round her. I'll swear my eyes didn't play me false." Suddenly she heard a halting step behind her. The heath at night was a favourite haunt of questionable characters from dissolute men of fashion to footpads, and a lone woman had need to dread one as much as the other. Betty's cottage was but a few yards away, and Lavinia quickened her pace. "Miss Fenton--one moment, I entreat," came in a panting whisper. "I--I am Lancelot Vane. I must speak with you." CHAPTER XXIV "FOR THE SECOND TIME VANE HAD RISKED HIS LIFE FOR HER" Lavinia stopped and turned, not completely round but half way. She was in a flutter, though outwardly calm. She made no attempt to recognise Vane, and indeed had Lancelot not announced himself, recognition would have been difficult, so greatly had he changed.